


Bat Son

by lastlegs (forgetme)



Category: DCU - Comicverse, Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Crack, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Crack, Gen, Secret Identity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-20
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 09:55:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 21,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/810258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forgetme/pseuds/lastlegs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Turns out Billy Batson is Batman's son.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Letter

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU in which the Marvel family (meaning Uncle Dudley, Mary and Freddie) doesn't exist. The story takes some season one Young Justice canon and mixes it with some classic comics-Billy backstory, and in general doesn't take itself too seriously. The whole point of this: Billy Batson is Bruce Wayne's biological kid.

_Dear Bruce,_

_If you are reading this letter – and, more than anything, I hope you never will– it means that something has happened to both me and my husband. It means that we are both dead. Even as I'm writing this now, I tell myself how unlikely an outcome that is, that it'll never happen, that it simply_ can't _happen. But even someone as – how did you put it? – almost painfully optimistic as me knows that unexpected things,_ bad _things can happen to anyone, anytime, no matter how young, healthy, happy and invulnerable one might be feeling because_ no one is invulnerable; no one is ever completely safe _– those were your words, of course._

_There is something I have to tell you – I_ have _to tell you, but the truth is that I don't plan on doing it, not as long as I live, and that is selfish although I tell myself that it isn't only for my sake, that it's for the sake of my family, for Billy's sake._

_Billy is your son, Bruce._

_I don't know if you even remember me and the night we spent together, just two lonely Americans running into each other in Tibet. It doesn't really matter; it didn't mean anything. Except that I got pregnant and, nine months later, gave birth to my – and your – son. At that time, however, I was already engaged to my then fiancé and now husband, the love of my life, who not only accepted Billy but loves him like his own child._

_At this point, you may not believe me, who knows? Maybe you've heard this kind of story before – I know you're very wealthy, I looked up your name and, well, I was stunned by what I found: Bruce Wayne, multimillionaire. I really hadn't heard of you before, I'm from Fawcett City, remember? You made fun of me for that when we first met; you said it explained a lot about me. And to this day I haven't been to Gotham; I travel frequently, of course, it comes with the job, but I still never visited your city. I may have been avoiding it, avoiding_ you _._

_I felt – feel – guilty about this Bruce, about keeping your son a secret from you. I know I've robbed you of something invaluable, and the worst part is that I don't even regret it. We are happy, Bruce. My husband, Charles Batson, Billy, who is already two years old and growing so incredibly fast, and I, we are a happy family. I didn't want to risk losing this._

_But, if you're reading this letter, then that means Billy has lost us, his parents. It means that he is alone in this world, and that he needs you now. You may hate me for what I did to you; you've got every right to, but, please, don't blame Billy. I don't plan on telling him anything, so he never knew about you. None of this is his fault and the last thing I want is for him to be punished for something I did._

_Please understand that this isn't about money, I don't care how rich you are, and neither will your son – all I want, all he needs, is for you to be there for him._

_I'm sorry, Bruce, I really am._

_-Marilyn_

_Fawcett City, 08/09/2002_

* * *

_Fawcett City, 04/02/2010  
_

Finding the letter, that had been a spot of luck in the long string of unpleasant developments following the more or less tragic demise of his annoying little half-brother and that insipid wife of his, who had left him burdened with their spoiled little brat.

Ebenezer'd gotten rid of that kid soon enough. There had been the small gift of the brat's inheritance, hardly compensation, really.

But now this, this was on a completely different level. Bruce Wayne, _billionaire_ , Bruce Wayne. If only he'd found the letter sooner, if only he'd really looked at it before putting it aside back then! Well, it was lucky that he hadn't tossed it out like most of the other sentimental garbage Billy's parents had left behind!

Oh, it didn't matter now, he'd just have to get the kid back from that foster home – dim-witted as the boy was, he'd probably believe whatever lie Ebenezer would come up with and come along happily and then, then, he'd just have to contact Wayne. There'd be a paternity test, probably. Wayne wasn't an idiot, after all – billionaires rarely were (at least not the ones that stayed billionaires). But Ebenezer wasn't all that worried about it; his late sister-in-law had been a lot of things – a naïve, annoying goody two shoes to name only one – but she hadn't been a liar.

And then, well, little Billy Batson would _finally_ be worth something.


	2. Great News

Billy - correction: Captain Marvel – had just come back from stopping the rampage of a terrified herd of elephants in India, which had been a lot of fun actually, once he'd calmed down the animals, when they got him. _They_ were none other than two police officers, one woman, who looked a little like Black Canary, and a spindly guy in sunglasses.

They came through the door, well, the mildew-y wooden board that served as one, just a few seconds after Billy had climbed in through the big hole in the roof. He usually didn't do that, transform in the condemned building he slept in, that was, because he didn't want Cap to be seen near the place Billy Batson called home, as that might lead to people getting suspicious, but he'd made an exception that day, and had transformed on the roof. It wasn't like anyone had seen him up there anyway.

So Billy hopped down into the room he'd been living in for the past two weeks and – _boom!_ – the police had found him, which meant that if he didn't come up with some kind of excuse for hanging out in a condemned building, social services would find him, too.

"William Joseph Batson," the woman sounded like she'd just run into a long lost relative, all relief and happiness, "your uncle has been worried sick about you!"

_Ooookay,_ so they knew his name; that was _bad._

And also, what was that about his uncle? He was worried? That was certainly news to Billy, whose most recent memory of Uncle E was said uncle tossing him out the door while calling him an ungrateful, useless brat. Maybe she was talking about a different uncle?

"I'm sorry," he said reflexively. It was one lesson he'd learned quickly, back in his first year without his parents before he'd ever even heard the wizard's name: keep your head down and apologize. Didn't always work, though.

"It's okay, everything's okay now, William." She approached him as she spoke, and Billy found himself taking one step back for each one she took forward.

"You don't have to be scared," Sunglasses said. He hadn't moved an inch from where he stood by the makeshift door, eyeing the hole in the roof. "Although we really shouldn't be here. This place looks like it could collapse any minute."

Billy didn't need to be told that he didn't have to be afraid. He knew that. He was Captain Marvel. Except that he wasn't right now; right now he was just Billy Batson, backed up against the red brick wall with nowhere left to retreat and a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

"Your uncle has great news for you," the woman said enthusiastically; as if she was some kind of game show host about to hand Billy a prize.

The truth was that all Billy wanted was to say the word and fly up into the sky and away, but that wasn't an option, not right in front of their eyes. If push came to shove and Uncle Ebenezer just wanted to have him back as his whipping boy again, Billy could always run away the first chance he got, or so he told himself. He was good at this, living on his own with no one to tell him what to do and nobody knowing his secret. It worked.

He sure didn't need whatever this was.

* * *

While sitting in the back of their car, Billy had gone over the whole thing in his head and had come to a conclusion: this was a trick. A ploy by one of his enemies – Captain Marvel's enemies.

He wondered what it said about him that he actually preferred this version to the arguably more harmless possibility that Uncle E had really regretted throwing him out.

Surely, any minute now, one of the two adults in the front seats of the police car would turn around, probably transform into some kind of horrible creature – he bet the woman would be something scaly, the guy maybe a robot – and try to kill him where he sat, buckled in like the good boy he was.

But no, the car just pulled up in front of Uncle Ebenezer's house, the one place in Fawcett City Billy actively avoided, and when Billy was too stunned to react even after the two police officers had got out, Glasses opened the door for him and ushered him to the front porch, one hand, human, no steel claws, on Billy's shoulder.

And as if that wasn't bad enough, the door was practically ripped open before they had time to ring the bell, and out came Uncle E, all wolfish smile, arms wide open, exclaiming, "There you are, my boy, oh, I've missed you _so_ much!" and engulfing Billy in a hug that felt like a bear trap closing around his ribcage.

* * *

Billy had expected Uncle Ebenezer to stop smiling as soon as the police left, but he didn't. Instead he urged Billy to sit down on the couch and even offered him a glass of lemonade. It made Billy feel ashamed about being so suspicious. Maybe his uncle really had changed. Maybe he truly regretted everything that had happened between them before and wanted to make things up to Billy. People changed, right? _You just have to believe in them_ , that was what his mom always used to say.

Billy took a sip of his drink and allowed a glimmer of hope to lighten his mood. Maybe this could actually be a good thing. A new start.

He watched his uncle pace the room. The old man's grin still showed no sign of fading, in fact, it only seemed to widen with each passing second.

"The thing is," Uncle E. began, "well, I have rather splendid news for you, my boy!"

"Okay?" Billy ventured, still waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"You won't believe it when I tell you, but… I have found your father!"

It took a long moment for Billy's brain to catch up with what his ears had just heard. And when it did, he still couldn't believe it. He felt the glass sliding out of his hand, and barely managed to hold onto it. His whole body felt strangely numb. Like he was dreaming.

"Holy moley! You mean my dad is… He's alive?!" It couldn't be, could it? He'd always secretly hoped—No, he'd dreamed about this kind of thing happening. That someone would tell him it had all just been a big misunderstanding, that his parents were still alive, of course they were, how could they not be?

In his dreams, his mom and dad would then appear and they'd be smiling and happy and they'd embrace him and everything before would have just been a bad dream.

But those were dreams and this was real.

Billy's heart was pounding in his chest as he was staring at his uncle. _Please, say that he's alive, please. It's gotta be true._

But already he could see the change in Uncle E's expression, the glee shifting into confusion.

"What? Of course he –" Billy thought his heart just might stop; he just might die right here, but Uncle Ebenezer paused, and then he _laughed_. "Oh, no, no, you silly boy, not C.C.; he's still rotting in his grave."

It was like being punched in the gut, and not like when Cap got punched either, no, this _hurt_ , so much that for a second Billy thought he might actually throw up or pass out. Miraculously, though, he managed to stay where he was, frozen in place. His eyes were burning with unshed tears.

"I'm talking about your _real_ father," Uncle E continued, seemingly oblivious to Billy's state. "Your mother had quite the tawdry secret, you see."

"No…" Billy said, not even replying to Uncle E, just saying the only word that was on his mind. No, this wasn't happening. No one could be this cruel… He couldn't hold back anymore, the tears ran freely now.

"Oh, wipe those tears off, you ninny! This is no time to cry!" Uncle Ebenezer put his hands on his hips and glared smugly. "Your real father is none other than Bruce Wayne! Do you know what that means?"

Billy was staring at the ground, at the tiny splotches of water that landed between his feet like raindrops. He just wanted to go; he didn't care about any of this anymore.

"Well, obviously you don't, so let me explain it to you. Uncle E took a deep breath. "The man is rich! And since you're his son, some of that money rightfully belongs to you – _us_ , really, seeing how I'm raising you- not to mention that you'd better inherit all of it once he croaks – which, considering his lifestyle, might not take too long," he finished, his voice dripping with exaggerated patience like he was the nice teacher trying to get even the slowest kid to understand.

Billy, however, didn't get it. He didn't understand how anyone could _be_ like that, _say_ stuff like that.

"Great news indeed, wouldn't you say?" Clearly Uncle Ebenezer was waiting for an answer.

"… it's not true." His dad… They'd played baseball and watched all the games on TV together. There'd been countless piggy-back rides and bedtime stories and hugs, and Billy treasured each and every one of them and wished he could relive them all allover. Or maybe just one, one more time. If he could only have that much…

But it wasn't possible, he knew that.

"You're lying," he stammered. "Mom wouldn't…It's a lie!"

He had a photo of them, all three of them together as a family; he carried it with him at all times. They'd been a family, whatever Uncle E said, nothing could change that.

_Nothing._

"Oh, shut your trap! I've already written to Wayne; there'll be a test anyway, nobody cares what you believe."

Billy bit his lip. This was about money. Uncle E was just plotting to pull a scam on Bruce Wayne, who was so famous that even Billy had heard his name before. It was a stupid plan, too. Mr. Wayne probably had a ton of lawyers ready to crush anyone who was dumb enough to try anything. Knowing that made him feel a little better, though not much.

He missed his parents keenly. He always did in a way, but right now the pain was almost as fresh as it had been back when he'd first been told that they wouldn't come back from their trip. That they'd never come back…

He fought down the tears and looked up at his uncle.

"This won't work," Billy said, proud of his steady voice. "Mr. Wayne won't give you any money; he won't believe you either."

"Haven't you been listening to me at all, you brat?" This time Uncle E's grin reminded Billy of Dr. Sivana's. "I said I don't care who believes me because, soon enough, there will be undeniable proof. But maybe I'll humor you, how about I show you your dear mommy's letter?"


	3. Writing on the Wall

It was her writing.

Billy stared at the piece of paper in its plastic pocket that his uncle was holding down on the table with both his hands, as if he was afraid Billy was going to snatch it away from him.

Her writing.

He had forgotten about it. But now that he saw it, he remembered. The notes she used to put into his lunchbox with his sandwiches.

_Have a great day, sweetie!_

_I love you!_

He'd barely even noticed them back then, when he was six and was used to his parents just being there whenever he needed them. Her notes on the fridge for his dad, phone numbers she'd quickly jotted down. Things like that. Everyday things.

Billy wouldn't have been able to describe her writing if he'd been asked, but now that he saw it, he recognized it. The way her _l_ s had this little loop and her _n_ s looked a little too much like her _r_ s.

His mom's handwriting.

But then, a person could fake someone else's writing. Just two weeks ago Chris Mercer had been called into the principal's office because he'd forged his dad's signature on a permission slip for a school trip to Six Flags. Billy had wanted to go too, but of course he didn't have anyone to sign for him, and even if he'd had, there was no way he'd have been able to afford it.

Anyway, maybe Uncle E had simply copied his mom's writing from some old document, and this was just part of his scam.

But the words… the truth was that they sounded like her. Like stuff she'd have said. And yet, they couldn't be true. How could they be true?

* * *

When Alfred descended the stairs leading to the Batcave, he was not surprised to find the large cavern illuminated only by the faint blue-ish glow emitted by the main computer's large screen. This was nothing unusual, and neither was the fact that Master Bruce was sitting right in front of said screen, cowl down but otherwise in full Batman attire.

What was maybe a little unusual was that instead of a map or fingerprints or a mug shot the image on the screen was that of a merely a few lines written in a very elegant hand. Alfred, not the world's greatest detective, but generally able to put two and two together, held out his silver tray - Master Bruce's breakfast – and dared to venture a guess.

"Would this be yesterday's suspicious letter? It does look unexpectedly harmless."

Bruce shot him a look. "You haven't read it," he said rather cryptically.

What Alfred had done was retrieve the post from the postbox the previous morning, like he did every morning and, after he had sorted it, discarding flyers and similar nonsense, put the letter with the rest of the actual mail on Master Bruce's desk. Why Bruce would suddenly expect him to snoop into his private affairs was beyond him.

"Of course not," he said rather archly, "it was addressed to you, sir."

"Read it, Alfred."

"Only if that is what it takes to make you actually drink your coffee before it gets even colder, sir," Alfred huffed in mock-exasperation.

"I'm afraid it is."

"Then you leave me no choice," he sighed and proceeded to skim the words for actual content.

The first paragraph surprised him. The letter was indeed private; it had nothing to do with Wayne Enterprises or Wayne Manor; it didn't pertain to Thomas and Martha Wayne or any other family matter that might have warranted Alfred's involvement. No, the first paragraph made it perfectly clear how private the letter's message was, that it was meant for Bruce's eyes only.

_Billy is your son, Bruce._

Alfred stopped, and did a rather comical double-take.

Bruce chose that moment to take the mug of coffee off the tray. As he took a long sip, Alfred hurried to finish the letter, his gaze jumping from one line to the next, each more unbelievable than the previous one.

"Bruce," he said finally, his usual rules of conduct momentarily forgotten, "is there any truth to this… allegation?"

"That's what I'm trying to find out." Bruce glanced at the screen again, away from Alfred. "But if you want to know whether or not Marilyn and I were together, then yes, that part is true."

Well, Bruce had been a young man – still was rather, and Alfred had always wanted him to have someone, although he'd hoped for something more permanent, of course. But if that much was true, what did that say about the rest of the story?

"Then?" he prompted, thinking, _What about the child?_

"It's also true that she and her husband were murdered, however, that happened three years ago." Bruce was stating facts, coolly it seemed, but Alfred had known him long enough to hear the tiny note of regret in his voice. This kind of thing – it never was simple. Nor would it ever be.

"Who sent the letter?"

"Ebenezer Batson. Half-brother of Clarence Charles Batson and legal guardian of ten-year-old William Joseph Batson."

That name. Alfred had seen it in the letter, but hearing it aloud, here, in this very cave, with the actual bats hanging above them… It gave the whole thing another strange twist. Oh, the irony.

" _Bat_ son?" he repeated, his incredulity irrepressible. It seemed like a joke.

"I know," Bruce said darkly. "She was still Marilyn Ordway when I met her."

There was another suspicious element in the story. "Why would they send you this now, why not earlier?" Alfred asked.

"That would be the question. Batson is a wealthy man, but he made it sound as if he and the boy were starving. He wrote that his sister-in-law's letter had been lost; he wants a paternity test and, if the boy turns out to be my son, _child support –_ a hefty sum at that _._ " Bruce looked at him meaningfully.

Money. Well, that had to be expected. As a motive it was common enough.

"That seems like an open and shut case then, Master Bruce, if you allow me to say so."

Bruce, however, sighed, his eyes returning to the screen. "I would have thought so myself," he said contemplatively. "But she wasn't the type."

It was rare to see him like that, not just grim determination, not consumed only with the fight and nothing else.

Alfred, too, looked at the screen. He reread the words; there was something about them that struck a chord inside of him. Suddenly he remembered Martha Wayne sitting in the old armchair up in the master bedroom, young Bruce sitting on her knee, the two of them reading a book together. _Goodnight house. Goodbye stars in the big night sky._

All she had ever wanted was for her son to be happy.

_All I want, all he needs, is for you to be there for him._

If it was true—

"Then you believe—"

"I believe in _facts_ , Alfred," Bruce cut him off. "I'll take the private jet to Fawcett City tomorrow. By then I'll already know the results of the DNA test."

"Very well, sir, but what about the boy?"

"We'll see," Bruce said, and Alfred wondered if it wouldn't be wise to prepare one of the rooms upstairs – maybe the one next to Master Dick's.

It never hurt to be prepared.


	4. Easy

Billy sat down on the narrow cot his uncle had set up for him before locking him into the Spartan guest room, just like he had the previous night. Only this time Uncle Ebenezer had been grinning.

"Wayne's on his way here; we'll have the DNA test first thing tomorrow morning!" he'd said, his voice filled with cheer. As if he could already taste the money. Billy had stared at the floor defiantly.

He was only staying because he wanted to see the test results for himself, and if Uncle E tried to cheat in some way, Captain Marvel would see right through him and bring the truth to light like he always did! And once Mr Wayne learned that he wasn't Billy's father, he would go back to Gotham and Uncle E would lose all interest in Billy again.

Then he would be able to go back to his regular life, and everything would be normal again. At this point, that was really all he wanted. Besides, Captain Marvel didn't need the attention; he had a job to do and a secret identity to protect.

Determined to do his duty, Billy got up and snuck over to the window. Outside it was dark – a quiet, moonless night, most of Fawcett City asleep, peaceful. But Captain Marvel knew that this impression was most likely wrong. Crime never slept! And neither did accidents or catastrophes and stuff, but saying that didn't sound as cool… Anyway, somewhere out there Captain Marvel was needed.

Billy fumbled with the handle on the window, gritting his teeth at every little creak from the old locking mechanism. He'd be in a world of trouble if he accidentally woke his uncle.

Finally something clicked and the window gave, allowing Billy to pull it open and let in the cool night air. His room was on the third floor, high enough to make trying to climb down seem like a really bad idea, but while Billy doubted he'd have tried anything under normal circumstances – well, Captain Marvel sure wasn't afraid of heights.

Still, he needed to do some climbing first. He hopped out of the window onto the actually pretty slippery shingles and carefully made his way to the very edge of the roof to get as far away from the inside of the house as possible. Crouching there, the night dark and silent around him, Billy felt a little like a ninja, like Batman probably felt all the time.

The thought brought a grin to his face, despite everything, Billy Batson was still Captain Marvel, the World's Mightiest Mortal!

Time to go to work!

* * *

Bruce Wayne would arrive in Fawcett City early the next day, but Batman was already above the city, the Batwing slicing through the night, faster than any conventional plane.

He would get his own DNA sample long before the official test, then, when Bruce arrived in the morning, he'd have the true results, and would be able to act accordingly.

If the test was negative and Batson tried to fake a positive, he would simply get his lawyers to force a second test.

But if it was positive and he really turned out to be that boy's father…

Bruce gritted his teeth.

He was a man who believed in preparation – he was a strategist and tactician, but in this particular event, he didn't think even the best laid plan would work.

When he'd taken in Dick—

That had been a quick decision, from his gut. He'd witnessed the tragedy firsthand, he'd seen Dick's pain, and he'd been reminded of _that_ moment. All he had wanted was to help Dick cope with that, and Dick hadn't had anyone else; he'd been alone, he'd needed Bruce.

But things were different with Billy. Billy had spent the last _years_ living without his parents; he had his uncle, he had a whole life in Fawcett City, thousands of miles away from Gotham. Forcing him to leave that behind, to leave the city where he'd lived with his parents, where they were buried, would be beyond cruel.

And the last thing Bruce wanted was to hurt an innocent child.

All he knew was that, if Billy was his son, Bruce would have to make a few crucial decisions.

* * *

"Thank you…" The elderly woman clinging to his arm was barely able to choke out the words between sobs. She was shaking and coughing; the funny little dog in her arm let out a low whine. She was probably squeezing it a little too hard for comfort.

Captain Marvel felt the heat from the flames behind them on his face as he flew down towards the blaring sirens of the ambulance.

Firemen cheered when he set the rattled lady and her pet down on the crowded street.

"You don't have to thank me, ma'am," Billy said. "I'm glad I could help."

She just nodded at him, probably still too much in shock to really understand what he was saying. Billy was supporting most of her weight; her knees seemed to have turned to rubber.

"Thank you, Captain; we've got it from here."

The paramedic's hand gently brushed his shoulder; she was smiling up at him, her eyes filled with so much admiration that Billy felt himself blush, his cheeks growing hotter than the flames from the burning house.

"Thanks," he said dumbly, and when he flew away he couldn't help but look over his shoulder, down at the people, and saw that some of them were waving goodbye.

* * *

As soon as Captain Marvel landed on the roof of his uncle's house, he said the word and transformed back. He was done for the night, although he wouldn't have minded having more to do, not that he wanted people to get into trouble…

It was just that when he was out there doing good, Billy could forget about his problems for a while, and people were always nice to Captain Marvel; they liked him, wanted him to notice them and stuff. With Billy Batson, well, nobody really cared about Billy. Usually he was just considered a nuisance.

Anyway, being Captain Marvel always cheered him up, made him remember that he had a purpose in life, even when things were looking bad, he just had to keep fighting and push through. As long as he could still do good and help people, Billy would be alright. Whatever happened, Billy Batson could definitely handle it! And if Billy couldn't, there was always Captain Marvel.

He smiled to himself as he crept across the shingles towards his dark window, which thankfully creaked open when he gave it a light push.

Billy climbed inside, feet first, so he could gaze up at the beautiful night sky one more time. Already, he couldn't wait to go flying again.

_Click_

The comforting darkness was swallowed by yellow light the very moment Billy's sneakers touched the floor, and just as quickly and unexpectedly Uncle E was upon him, grabbing the back of his red sweatshirt to yank him away from the window.

Although his uncle wasn't particularly strong – especially when compared to Captain Marvel – the sheer shock and force of the assault had Billy losing his balance and falling backwards. Instinctively, he tried to break his fall, and a sharp pain shot through his wrist on impact with the hard wooden floor.

Billy winced, sitting on the floor, cradling his hurt wrist to his chest, his uncle towering over him.

"You little brat!" Uncle E hissed like a venomous snake, "what were you trying to do? Fall out of the window and break your empty skull open? To make me look like a fool in front of Wayne?"

"I wasn't—"

The old man drew back his right hand as if he was going to slap Billy, but just as Billy flinched, he hesitated.

"Go to bed," he said instead, clearly making an effort to hold himself in check. "Climbing out of the window would be dangerous, you see? You might hurt yourself; heck, the fall could kill you even, and we don't want that to happen, do we, my boy?"

Mutely, Billy shook his head.

"Well, good. Just go to bed," Uncle E intoned in a sort of melodious tone that was probably supposed to sound sweet and tender, but was actually creeping Billy out so much he had to avert his eyes from his uncle's fake smile.

"Remember, we've got a big day tomorrow!" his uncle called over his shoulder, all fake cheer, as he exited the room.

Billy heard the two loud metallic clacks as Uncle E locked the door behind himself.

His wrist throbbed faintly.

* * *

Batson didn't have an alarm system, but when he got to the house, Bruce saw lights in some of the windows on the uppermost floor, so he waited until they went out, and then he waited an additional seventy minutes to make sure the residents would be asleep.

Naturally, you never could be one hundred percent certain of that, however, this way at least the odds were in his favor. Batson was no criminal – Bruce had done an extensive background check on him, so he was fairly convinced this was true – and as a regular citizen he didn't warrant Batman sneaking around his house, spying on him, more than absolutely necessary.

Once the place had been completely dark and quiet for some time, Bruce went down, onto the roof, and made a beeline for the window that had been the first to grow dark.

The last one would be Batson's bedroom.

This one, though...

Batman crouched next to the window, his side against the brick wall, and fully switched to night vision for a second. A bed and a shape under the covers. The slightest of movement. Breathing.

Carefully, using only the tips of his fingers, Bruce traced the old window frame. He had a number of tools in his belt that were suited for breaking into any kind of house - or safe, vault, fortress-, but for this kind of job he felt he wouldn't need any. The window was already unlocked. To his surprise it gave without him using any kind of force. He pushed slowly, making sure to support its weight as it swung inward to prevent it from making noise.

Once it was open, Batman slipped into the house as silently as a shadow.

The boy was asleep on the cot in front of him. The room was mostly empty. No toys, no schoolbooks, nothing. No hint of a ten-year old resident, apart from the actual ten-year-old sleeping in the bed. Bruce frowned under his cowl. This wasn't what he'd expected. The room looked like a prison cell.

He crept over to the sleeping boy and pulled a glass vial out of one compartment of his utility belt. Inside was a Q-tip he would use to carry the sample.

This was the easy part.

* * *

Bruce looked at the two patterns of black stripes on his computer screen. _Match_ was the computer's clinical conclusion which it had spelled out in big red letters underneath the two images.

Behind him, Alfred cleared his throat.

"I presume this means congratulations are in order, sir?"

The tone was completely dry, but Bruce had learned to read between the lines, and the hand Alfred put on his shoulder was warm and steady.

This was where the hard part began.


	5. All Wrong

Billy sat on the examination table, his feet dangling, while the young black lab technician smiled at him reassuringly. He wasn't a big fan of this; it was too much like a hospital visit, but at least with those - unlike most kids his age - he understood how necessary they could be – his experiences as Captain Marvel had taught him a lot about emergency rooms and how doctors saved lives on a regular basis. This, though, was neither fun nor especially useful.

"No need to be scared, kiddo," the doc, who wasn't really a doc but looked like one, said, flashing him a grin. He was wielding a transparent little plastic thing that looked nothing like the syringe Billy had expected.

Billy swallowed, wondering where exactly on his body that thing was supposed to go. Next to him, his uncle was tapping his foot impatiently, and across the room, leaning against the wall nonchalantly was Mr Wayne himself, all dressed up in an expensive suit, his dark hair slicked back. When their eyes met, he smiled and winked at Billy. Billy quickly averted his eyes, then immediately felt bad about being rude.

Mr Wayne had been nothing but nice to him, shaking his hand even before his uncle's when they met in front of the building, and all Billy had been able to do was gape at him and his huge, sleek, black car, at the chauffeur behind the wheel. He'd never even seen a chauffeur before.

He'd barely managed to mumble "hello."

"Why don't you do me first?" Mr Wayne asked, "so he can see what he's getting into." He was still smiling and looking at Billy a little strangely, warmly but with something else in there. Weird.

It made Billy feel uncomfortable, having someone look at him like that, and it made him remember –

Actually it made him wonder if Mr Wayne might really be thinking he was Billy's father. Maybe he even wanted to be? No way, that would be too weird, right? And why should he? It'd just mean he'd have to pay Uncle E money…

Billy glanced over at his uncle, who was watching Mr Wayne intently, like a cat watching a canary.

The lab guy walked over to Mr Wayne and, to Billy's amazement, Mr Wayne just opened his mouth for the lab tech, who stuck the small tube-thing in and scraped around a little.

"That's it?" Billy blurted out when the doc withdrew the object. From where he was sitting, Billy couldn't even really see what exactly he had gotten. Maybe just some spit?

"Yup, for this kind of test we don't even need blood; it's really simple. There are actually kits you can order so you could do this at home," the lab technician paused, frowning, as if he'd lost his train of thought, "we're just trying to be really sure here, you know?"

That hadn't sounded like the whole truth… But then, Mr Wayne was standing right there, and the doc probably didn't want to point out that the guy who'd paid for all this had done so because he wanted to make sure he didn't get stuck with a child that wasn't even really his.

It made Billy feel like he was just some pawn being pushed around on a chessboard. No one really wanted him; this was strictly a money-thing. The only people who had ever wanted him and loved him were dead and gone.

He opened his mouth so the doc could take his sample and went back to staring at his dangling feet. Just a few more minutes and they'd have the result, then all this would hopefully be over, and he'd be able to get away from his uncle and back to his life.

Or rather lives.

* * *

Bruce found himself glancing furtively at the boy in front of him, trying to read his body language like he would a suspect's. He knew this wasn't the right approach, but then he didn't really know what the right approach would be. Alfred was definitely better at this sort of thing than he was.

His son. This was his son.

Even after seeing the test results and doing another check on William Joseph Batson's background, even now that he was actually seeing the kid – his kid – in broad daylight for the first time, it was still hard to fathom.

Billy, too, didn't look especially at ease. The lab might be part of that, it wasn't exactly the best place to meet your child for the first time, but Bruce had to keep up appearances. Sure, he already knew the result of the paternity test, but to Ebenezer Batson this whole affair had to look real.

Batson Senior, on the other hand, was almost exactly what Bruce had expected – an old man about an inch from slobbering with greed.

Bruce focused on Billy again. Billy, who wasn't meeting his eye, who was sitting there in his faded jeans and threadbare red sweatshirt, looking like the poster child for poverty and neglect. The press would eat this up with a spoon once it got out, but that wasn't his concern right now.

He was more concerned with his options considering Billy's future. When he'd discussed the situation with Alfred, they'd both agreed that the boy should come to Gotham, but on some level Bruce had reservations about that decision. If anyone had tried to take him away from his home city when he was a child, he would have fought them, and if they had succeeded, he was sure he would have been crushed. Did he really want to put his own son through something he himself would have considered torture?

Billy should have a choice in the matter, but looking at the fishy uncle as he was, Bruce could feel his doubts solidifying. The fact that Billy had spent the whole time unconsciously rubbing his wrist didn't help one bit.

Bruce thought he saw faint bruising on the boy's skin. He was loath to give Ebenezer Batson any money because looking at Billy now, he could see that none of the man's wealth had made it to the kid so far, and if he had anything to do with that injury…

Righteous anger flared inside of Bruce, but he kept it bottled up for the time being. He had no proof, only suspicion.

* * *

Billy didn't look up from his shoelaces until the lab technician re-entered. His mind had been working the whole time, trying to anticipate the test-result and coming up with a worst-case-scenario plan that would get him away from both his uncle and Mr Wayne.

So far he didn't have much.

The lab tech cleared his throat and motioned for Uncle E and Mr Wayne to get closer. "If you would follow me into the other room, please," he said, casting a apologetic look towards Billy. "You'll have to wait here for a minute, okay, Billy?"

_Great. The kiddie-treatment._

Billy nodded like a good little boy, and, like a bad little boy, once the adults had left the room – leaving the door open so the woman at the reception desk had a good view of Billy – he found himself eyeing the lobby. The receptionist was on the phone, shooting a glance in his direction every few seconds. If he made a run for it now…

No, he wanted to hear the result first, that was the plan. There'd still be time to escape later. He was Captain Marvel; after all, what chain could hold _him_?

Billy smiled to himself. This whole thing was just a minor setback, Captain Marvel would prevail!

He remained seated and twiddled his thumbs. Whatever happened, there was nothing he couldn't handle. Sure, his wrist still hurt a little, but that was only because he hadn't been willing to run away from his uncle before he got the result of the test, and there had been no way he could have used Cap against his frail old uncle, no matter how mean Uncle E was.

He glanced at the faint bruising and grimaced. Yeah, as soon as this was done, he'd definitely make a run for it. He wouldn't fall for his uncle's nice guy act again, that was for sure.

Just as Billy pulled his sleeve up a little higher to fully cover his wrist, the adults returned, Mr Wayne and the lab tech looking very serious, while Uncle E was wearing a scary expression that reminded Billy of Wile E. Coyote's face whenever he thought he had the perfect plan to catch the roadrunner. It told him all he needed to know. He felt his heart sink.

Respectfully, the lab tech stopped in the doorway. "I'll leave you for a moment, all right?" His eyes were on Mr Wayne; he was waiting for his reply, not Uncle E's.

Bruce Wayne just nodded curtly; again he was looking at Billy and only Billy. Staring so intently, it was pretty unnerving. Billy felt himself shifting, sort of wishing he had taken his chance with running earlier. Man, Mr Wayne was imposing. You probably had to be if you were the CEO of a huge company like Wayne Enterprises, but still. Telling him that Uncle E was trying to scam him would not be fun.

He felt like holding his breath when Mr Wayne approached him, that strange look on his face, and finally stopped right in front of Billy, his hands settling gently on Billy's shoulders. They were heavy and warm, and Billy had to suppress the embarrassing urge to duck out of their grip. The last person who had touched him like that had been his dad, years ago – and this, this was all _wrong_.

Mr Wayne's eyes were really dark and intense, like some tv hypnotist's, and maybe he actually was something like that – a bad guy. That could be, right? Except that Billy had seen him on tv, making speeches about charities and stuff. Good stuff. Hadn't he even helped finance the Watchtower?

But then again, that could just be a façade, a distraction to hide his dark secret! What better cover for a villain than to play the generous guy who donated money to the JLA?

Billy swallowed. Whatever happened, he had to be ready.

"Billy, according to the DNA test, I'm your biological father." Mr Wayne said it quickly yet gravely, as if he wanted to get it out of the way and move on to more important things.

It was wrong, though, all wrong. He had fallen for whatever trick Uncle E had used to make the test come up with a false result. How could Mr Wayne believe something like that? Was he really that naïve? Or was he part of an evil scheme to catch Captain Marvel off guard? But that'd mean Billy's secret identity was compromised, and that couldn't be; he'd been careful.

"No, you're not." The words blurted right out of Billy, just a whisper to himself, but from the look on Mr Wayne's face, he'd heard them loud and clear. He looked sad but not surprised, which made Billy feel sorry because, he did seem like a nice man, not like a villain, and he'd come all this way from Gotham, just to be tricked.

"Look," Mr Wayne said, his grip on Billy's shoulders firm but gentle, steady. "I can't imagine what this must be like for you, but—"

"I'm sure the heartfelt speeches can wait, Mr Wayne, may I remind you that we have important financial matters to discuss?" His uncle's nasal, self-important voice was like nails on a chalkboard to Billy, who'd all but forgotten that the old man was still in the room with them.

Mr Wayne shot him a withering glare. "You may _not_. I'm talking to my son." He didn't even raise his voice, but the tone was enough to make the hairs on Billy's neck stand up. "What you may do is leave us alone."

Uncle E gasped, clearly outraged. "Excuse me?"

Billy had to crane his neck to look past the bulk of Mr Wayne's torso to catch a glimpse of his uncle's rapidly reddening face and bulging eyes. Which was pretty funny, or would have been if his heart hadn't been pounding in his chest as if he had been running a marathon.

"You heard me, Mr Batson," Bruce Wayne was apparently the coolest guy in the whole world, he didn't even waste another glance at Uncle E, didn't get mad or tell him to shut up or anything like that, he just. Said. The. Words. "I'd like to have a moment alone with Billy."

Billy thought he could actually feel his uncle's anger and fear rolling towards them like a tidal wave. Clearly, he was intimidated by Mr Wayne, but didn't want to give in. He'd taken a step back, away from them and closer to the door, but there he remained hovering stubbornly, until Mr Wayne said, "Now would be good," like he was just making a helpful suggestion.

That was more than Uncle E could take. All Billy heard was the slam of the door, and his uncle was gone, leaving him alone with Bruce Wayne.


	6. The Talk

"Mr Wayne," Billy whispered urgently as soon as the door was closed, as if he was afraid his uncle was still waiting right outside, trying to eavesdrop on them. Bruce had a feeling the boy's fears were not completely unfounded. "I'm sorry, but there must have been a mistake. I mean…"

The protest wasn't unexpected, but saying it didn't sting a little would have been lying. It surprised him, though, that he already cared this much about how his son felt about him. Not to mention that the kid looked like he was going through hell, and seeing _that_ made Bruce feel even worse.

"I think my uncle did something to the test, you know?" Billy blurted out finally. "It's not that I wouldn't want to be your son, sir, it would have been an honor, I'm sure, just…" He trailed off like an engine running out of steam.

Bruce frowned. The boy's lack of trust in his uncle was a very bad sign. He'd hoped—Well, those hopes had been crushed the moment Mr Batson had opened his mouth for the first time, but he'd at least wished that the old man was nice enough to Billy to leave him there for a few more days until things were settled in Gotham. Dick had been on a mission with the team; Bruce hadn't even had time to tell him about the letter. He'd hoped there would be enough time to prepare him for the change, and for Billy to say goodbye to his friends in Fawcett and get used to the idea of moving to Gotham.

If Billy truly thought his uncle was the kind of man to fake the DNA test result to get Bruce's money, though—

It simply meant that there was no trust between him and his uncle, no love, and Bruce couldn't leave his son in such a toxic environment for a minute longer than he already had.

"Billy," he said. "I understand that you're suspicious; it's okay, you don't have to apologize. However, I'm not the kind of man to take things at face value." He took a deep breath. Saying this might not be the best plan since it meant he had questioned Billy's identity as well, not to mention that it sounded like he had wanted the test to be negative. Still, he had to say it. He had enough secrets already; he didn't want to add to them. "I already took measures to find out the truth before I got here; you know I have the means."

Billy's eyes were wide and very, very blue, just like his mother's had been back when Bruce had first met her – _this strange girl kneeling in the snow, cradling a dirty brown shard of_ something _in her gloved hands._

_The little white clouds of her frozen breath as she looked up at him accusingly._

" _Do you even realize what you just stepped on?"_

_And Bruce smirked and said, "Nope."_

"I am one hundred percent certain that you are my son, Billy."

He could almost see the wheels turning in the boy's head; disbelief clouded Billy's eyes. "But—" his mouth was moving without producing a sound. He was desperately trying to come up with something that would prove Bruce wrong, and yet he couldn't think of anything.

Bruce's heart constricted at the sight of his son's helplessness. He could feel Billy's narrow shoulder's tensing up under his hands.

"I know this is a shock—"

Billy was shaking his head, not even listening to him. "You can't be my father! I have a father—" He broke off, and Bruce could see the first unshed tears shining in his eyes as he corrected himself, his voice soft, "I mean I had a father…"

Seeing the pain etched into his son's features was enough to make him remember what it had felt like, for years and years afterwards, to realize it over and over again. That they were truly gone. "Billy—"

"I look just like him!" There was a pleading note in the boy's voice now; he desperately wanted Bruce to take back his words. "People always said that!"

"What did he look like?" he posed the question as gently as possible, reminding himself that, although he wanted to show Billy the flaw in his logic, the boy was not in fact some lying criminal whose alibi he was trying to destroy but a scared kid, _his_ scared kid.

And there was the hesitation, just like he had known there would be, as Billy realized that his father had been just as tall and broad-shouldered as Bruce was, that they had similar features, their dark hair and dark eyes, their chiseled jaws, that, if they had ever stood next to each other, one could have mistaken Bruce Wayne and C.C. Batson for brothers.

Though back in Gotham, when Bruce had pulled up photos of Marilyn and her husband, the moment he saw C.C. Batson, it had been Clark Bruce had first thought of. They were the same type. The all-American guy.

But right now, Billy realized that everything he had in common with the man who had been his dad for seven years, he also had in common with the stranger standing in front of him, and that realization hurt.

"Billy, I'm sorry," Bruce said. "I know that no one can ever replace your parents. Believe me, I'm not trying to do that. I don't want you to forget them. Your mom and dad will always be your mom and dad, _nothing_ will ever change that, but I want to be there for you – as your friend, okay?"

Billy just looked up at him, still wide-eyed, still not really _there_. "So you'll give Uncle E that money?" he asked almost timidly.

Bruce shook his head. This was the moment of truth.

"Actually, I'd rather take you to Gotham with me," he said, and watched the impossible happen: Billy's eyes grew even wider.

"Holy Moley, to Gotham City? For how long?"

"I was hoping for good." The boy's face fell. This was what Bruce had been afraid of. The last thing he wanted was to have to drag his son kicking and screaming away from Fawcett City. "Gotham is my home, Billy, and I'd like it to be yours as well," he said gently.

"But I live here, and Gotham is so far away…"

It had to seem that way to Billy. For Bruce distances had shrunk considerably since he'd joined the League. Thanks to Zeta-beams, he could be in the Watchtower, _in space,_ within seconds. Billy, however, had probably never even left the continent.

"You can visit Fawcett as often as you want, Billy, I promise."

"But that takes hours, even by plane!"

"I know, but I have a private jet; you could come here every weekend if that's what you want." Bruce smiled encouragingly, hoping that Billy would be as impressed and curious as any other young boy would surely have been.

"Holy Moley! Mr Wayne—"

"Please, call me Bruce," he interjected.

Billy barely seemed to register that he'd even been interrupted. "—that's all real generous of you," he continued obliviously, "but I… I can't accept this. I mean, I can't just move to _Gotham_." The boy hung his head, looking at his shoes like he had earlier during test. Lookig like he wanted to be somewhere else, far away from Bruce.

"Why not?" Bruce asked, knowing that he was pressuring the boy. "Billy, if I paid your uncle child support, would he treat you well? Would you _honestly_ want to stay here with him?"

Billy didn't look up to meet his gaze.

Bruce found himself staring down at him, and saw that his son's fingers were gripping the edge of the examination table he was sitting on so hard that his knuckles were white.

"I…"

He waited but apart from the single syllable nothing else was forthcoming. For a few heartbeats, Bruce just stood, listening to the muffled noises from outside. Footsteps that went past the door, the ring of a telephone.

He sighed.

"Look, I'm not stupid. I know he isn't poor, he doesn't need the money. Not that I would mind supporting you financially, but you're a minor, Billy. I can't just send you money, and, frankly, I don't trust your uncle." Still Billy didn't look at him. "I _will_ get custody of you, Billy, and I would like you to come live with me in Gotham."

"You're not really asking me whether _I_ want to come, are you, sir?" Billy's voice floated up to him, sounding small and sad, defeated. But it was the politeness of the statement that really got to him. His son was a good kid, no thanks to him.

"I'm sorry, Billy, but it's either coming to Gotham with me or staying here with your uncle, and I think at this point we can both admit the latter is not an acceptable solution."

Now Billy did raise his eyes from the floor; he looked up at Bruce, his face pale, his expression desperate. "But I'm _fine_ here, I really am, Mr Wayne!" The boy sounded like he was pleading for his life; it was heartbreaking to watch, but Bruce knew he couldn't let up. There simply was no way for him to give Billy what he wanted. That wasn't how the world worked.

It was natural for the child to be afraid of change, he told himself. It had nothing to do with Bruce personally, or even with Gotham. Billy had probably developed strategies to cope with his less than ideal life in Fawcett and with his certainly less than ideal uncle, so he felt safe and in control here although he was neither.

_Better the devil you know…_

He knew he had to keep pushing, to show Billy that he cared about him and didn't mean him any harm, unlike other people. It would take a lot of time and effort, but he hoped that, one day, he would earn his son's trust.

"What happened to your wrist, Billy?" Bruce asked, his hand slipping from Billy's shoulder down his arm. As expected, Billy flinched.

"…I fell." As he said the words, the boy's gaze slid away from Bruce's face, as if his attention had been snagged by something in the far corner of the room. Billy was a bad liar.

"Right." Bruce knew how to keep his emotions under control; he'd had a lot of practice over the years. He made sure that his voice didn't betray even the tiniest fracture of the fury he felt when he thought about Batson laying a hand on his boy, but at the same time he made sure that his tone conveyed just how unconvincing that story had been.

He watched Billy fidget and shift helplessly. Bruce had wanted to make this easier, he wanted Billy to understand that although he might be reluctant to leave Fawcett behind now, he might actually come to find that life in Gotham wasn't awful, that it might in fact be better than what he had here. Billy, though, didn't look at all like an improvement of his situation had even occurred to him. He looked scared, almost like a trapped animal.

"You could just go…I mean you could just forget about the test. You don't know me, sir, you could just forget you ever met me. I can take care of myself, _honestly_. I'll be fine, and you could keep your money, " Billy said – his words hardly more than a rushed whisper – and Bruce felt a sharp pang of hurt at his son's rejection. This was worse than he had expected, it wasn't a temper tantrum or defiance, those he could have dealt with, he could have understood them, but the desperate pleading… It made him feel awful, guilty; it made him wonder if he was already too late. Years too late.

"No," Bruce said. " _No_ , Billy, I won't forget you. You're my _son_. I know this is hard for you, but all I want is to take care of you, to be there for you. I promise I'm going to earn your trust, but you have to give me a chance, okay?"

The few seconds that followed, in which Billy sat looking at him, his eyes troubled and sad, obviously weighing his options, were some of the longest of Bruce's life. Still he waited, knowing that to his son right now he was just a stranger willy-nilly deciding his fate, knowing that Billy probably knew as well as he that the choice was already made, regardless of Billy's wishes.

And Bruce knew that this was cruel, but he also knew that sometimes you had to be cruel to be kind.

Finally, under Bruce's watchful gaze, the boy swallowed and nodded slowly.

"Okay," Billy said.


	7. Confrontation

As soon as Mr Wayne opened the door, Uncle E was there, scrambling into the exam room, his eyes narrowed into suspicious little slits.

"Don't think you can just sneak out of here, Wayne! We have financial matters to discuss." He pointed a spindly finger at Mr Wayne in accusation.

Billy felt like he had turned invisible; his uncle sure didn't seem to care about his existence much.

"We don't, actually." Mr Wayne brushed past Uncle E as if the old man was nothing but air. Billy, unsure of what he was supposed to do, found himself being tugged along, the fingers of Mr Wayne's hand laced through his the way his mom's and dad's used to be when he was little and they had to cross a street. He felt like a traitor. This hadn't gone according to plan at all. Would he really have to go to Gotham?

Uncle E for one didn't seem to have caught up on what was going on either. "What? What are you saying?" he asked, his voice starting to sound shrill.

"I'm filing for full custody of my son, Mr Batson, and I'm taking him to Gotham right now, that is what I am saying." Mr Wayne stayed completely calm; his hand around Billy's fingers was warm and sure; it seemed like nothing in the world could faze him. In a way, his demeanor reminded Billy of his dad—

No, he didn't want to finish that thought. His dad was gone, and he didn't know Mr Wayne at all.

" _What?_ You can't do that."

"Believe me, I can."

"But the— He's lived with me for all this time – we're talking _years_ here – I demand you compensate me for my expenses."

Mr Wayne hesitated, considering. "How much?" He sounded almost bored, like the amount wouldn't even matter. Which it probably wouldn't, not to a billionaire, Billy realized. Still, Uncle E didn't deserve to get a reward for lying!

"I didn't –" Billy blurted out, unable to stop himself because it just wasn't right. He couldn't let his uncle take money from Mr Wayne like that. Except that he was about to say something that might get him into trouble, he realized, and Mr Wayne was looking at him all intensely now. Billy swallowed. He had to do the right thing and tell the truth. It was what Superman would do.

"I didn't live there until two days ago, sir," Billy said, eyes trained firmly on the gray floor.

As he had expected, his uncle was not pleased. In fact, he downright erupted.

"He's lying!" Uncle Ebenezer shouted, tiny drops of spittle flying, "admit that you're lying, you little—"

Billy cringed, but Mr Wayne cut Uncle E off before he could finish, and when he spoke, his voice was calm and gentle, directed at Billy, not at the old man.

"Where did you live, Billy?" he asked.

"...different…places…" Billy mumbled, only to be interrupted by his uncle again.

"Don't listen to a word out of that brat's mouth! He's just trying to get back at me!" Uncle E looked about ready to foam at the mouth, too, and he would have launched into an angry diatribe – in the short time Billy had actually lived at his uncle's house, he'd learned to fear those – but Mr Wayne wasn't having it.

"Get back at you _for what_ , Mr Batson?" Under Mr Wayne's steely gaze, Uncle E withered like an unwatered houseplant. Billy was amazed at the effect Mr Wayne had on people, at the quick change in him. Mr Wayne had seemed so friendly when he had first seen him, and, to be honest, kind of flaky. He was a different man now, though. His eyes hard and unforgiving, he had grasped onto Uncle E's slip of the tongue immediately.

His uncle regrouped just as swiftly, though. He stood up straighter and puffed out his skinny chest, obviously trying to look intimidating, but falling far off the mark – he looked like a skeleton with a balloon up its ribcage.

"You owe me! I'll sue you!" The accusing pointing of the finger made a return, however, this time it was trembling slightly. "I'll go to the press; _billionaire Bruce Wayne lets his son live on the streets._ They'll love that, they will!"

Billy flinched; already he was causing Mr Wayne trouble. If his uncle followed through on his threat, then Mr Wayne would surely get a ton of bad publicity. Maybe people would stop supporting his charities, and it'd be Billy's fault! He wanted to say something to diffuse the situation, find a compromise, any compromise, but he couldn't think of anything, and he couldn't turn into Cap and use the Wisdom of Solomon either.

Anxiously, Billy looked up at Mr Wayne, and was surprised by the expression of cool contempt written on the man's face. Apparently, Mr Wayne was not the least bit worried.

"You can do that, Mr Batson," he said, and Billy almost gasped in shock. "But think about it. Think about it long and hard because if you try anything, I will get my lawyers and I can promise you that things will not turn out the way you want them to. The neglect and abuse of children is a crime, Mr Batson, and if you so much as make another peep, I will make sure you're punished. This is your chance, the only one you're going to get from me, to quit while you're ahead, do you understand that?"

It wasn't an idle threat, that much was clear, even to Billy. This wasn't power play anymore, Mr Wayne was dead serious, and he could crush uncle E if he wanted to. He could crush a lot of people if he wanted to, Billy realized. If you were a billionaire, you were out of most people's league.

Uncle E just stared, his mouth hanging open. It was a funny sight, but Billy didn't feel like laughing at the old man. He was going to get shipped off to Gotham, after all. At least with Uncle E he could have stayed in Fawcett. He could have run away and gone back to the way things were, but now, now he had no idea how things would turn out for him.

"Now I'll take Billy and we'll pick up his things," Mr Wayne announced, and started tugging Billy towards the door.

"What things? There's nothing!" Uncle E called after them. "Just go get that filthy brat out of my sight!"


	8. Departures

The whole way from the exam room to the car, Mr Wayne kept one hand firmly on Billy's shoulder. It made Billy feel a little like a criminal being led away by the police. Not the greatest of feelings, he was starting to find out.

His mind was racing anyway, trying to come up with ways to escape from this situation. For the moment, he pushed away his doubts about the test result, telling himself that whether or not Mr Wayne was his biological father was ultimately meaningless. He had had a dad, and that had been his real dad; no one could take that place.

Mr Wayne opened the door, and, for a second, Billy was almost blinded by the bright sunlight that greeted them. It glinted off the shiny black car which was waiting for them in front of the building. Billy couldn't help but be impressed by it. He wasn't a huge car buff like some of the other boys in his class – when you were able to fly, even the fastest sports car seemed kind of lame in comparison – but he knew enough to recognize the winged B-emblem on the hood of the car. A Bentley. Wow.

"You like it?" Mr Wayne asked. "This one is just a rental, but I have one just like it back in Gotham."

It didn't sound like bragging, more like Mr Wayne was trying to start a conversation with him, to find some common ground. Billy had been through this kind of thing with various social workers and foster parents; he knew that it wasn't really about him; they were mostly just trying to put themselves at ease, to fill the silence.

"It's really cool," he said, his usual enthusiasm dampened by the prospect of having to move to Gotham. This car would take them to the airport, from where a private jet would take them to the east coast, to Gotham City, so he couldn't help resenting it a little.

As they approached, the door on the driver's side opened and the chauffeur got out. Billy watched the tall elderly man walk around the car to meet them on the passenger side.

"Master Bruce?" the chauffeur said, his tone quizzical. His eyes swiveled over to Billy, who shifted uncomfortably under the intense gaze.

_**Master**_ _Bruce_ , Billy thought, _wow._

Mr Wayne gave him a gentle push forward. "Alfred, this is Billy," he said. "He's going to come and live with us from now on. Billy, this is Alfred, our butler. He's really indispensible."

Alfred's eyebrow quirked. "You flatter me, sir," he said before offering Billy his hand, which Billy grasped shyly. The old man had a surprisingly strong grip.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, young master," Alfred said, squeezing Billy's hand once.

"N-nice to meet you." Billy was aware that he was pretty much gaping at the man in front of him, at his impeccable tuxedo, the bow tie. He kinda looked like a waiter at a really fancy restaurant, and he sounded really posh, too. Extremely British.

"Bill, that is short for William, I believe?" Alfred asked once he'd let go of Billy's hand.

"Yeah, but no one ever calls me that. Just Billy's fine, really, Mister-?"

"You can call me Alfred, Master Bill."

_Master Bill?_ To be honest, Billy was a little scandalized that a grownup would choose to call him that. "I—You don't mind? It's not rude?" He had no idea how to talk to Mr Wayne's butler, and he found himself casting a help-seeking glance up at Mr Wayne, who just smiled, apparently not scandalized at all.

The butler, too, was smiling. "It's how I would like you to address me. I _am_ your father's employee, after all," he said.

"O-okay?" It came out as a question, not a statement like he'd planned, but this was just too weird. He'd never encountered anything like this, not even as Cap.

Mr Wayne squeezed his shoulder. "Don't worry, you'll get used to it," he said. "Alfred just loves his formalities."

"Well, somebody ought to," Alfred said drily. "I assume we have some luggage to collect, sir?"

Mr Wayne's lips tightened into a thin line. "No," he said, shooting Alfred a glance that Billy couldn't quite read. Then he turned to Billy. "Unless there's anything you want us to pick up?"

If he was going to leave Fawcett for who knew how long, Billy did indeed want to bring a few things, however, those things were still at his former homebase, a derelict building on the corner of Winston and Parker Avenue. Did he really want to bring Mr Wayne there?

Technically, he could still come back as Cap later and get whatever he needed, but who knew when he'd get the opportunity. Billy chewed on his lip, worried. He'd already left his stuff there too long – it'd been two days since the police had picked him up – and nothing was ever really safe in an abandoned house.

"Actually…" he said, reluctantly coming to a decision. "Yes, there's something. I mean, if it's not too much trouble."

"It's no trouble at all," Mr Wayne said.

* * *

"This is it?" Bruce was rarely surprised and even less often shocked, but this time was different. During the talk with Batson, Billy had said that he hadn't lived with his uncle, and Bruce had believed him, but he hadn't expected an abandoned house in one of Fawcett's poorer districts to be one of the "different places" in which Billy had claimed to have stayed.

What he'd thought of had been friends' places, maybe foster homes, although he hadn't even been sure on that front, because Billy plain and simple didn't strike him as a street kid. He'd met his fair share of them, and most of them were the complete opposite of what he'd seen of the boy so far. In other street kids, he'd seen anger and distrust, rebellion and opposition; kids that often slipped down into criminality, drug addiction or prostitution.

Billy seemed different; but then, Bruce had only known him for a few hours, and if he had learned one thing, it was that first impressions weren't always right.

He looked at Billy, who was sitting next to him in the backseat, his profile outlined against the bright noon sky on the other side of the car window, and his son nodded, "Yes, Mr Wayne."

"Bruce," he said gently, wondering how long it would take for Billy to actually dare to use his first name.

He opened the car door. "Let's go then," he said to Billy.

* * *

Billy was only mildly surprised that Mr Wayne chose to enter the building with him, but, somehow, he'd still hoped that he'd be able to go by himself. That maybe he'd find a way to sneak off. No such luck, though, since Mr Wayne was standing right next to him, and even headed up the dirty stairs first.

Billy followed suit, slightly embarrassed by the state of his former home. It was darker and danker than he remembered it. Plus, it smelled really badly of mold and rot. And alcohol.

At the top of the stairs, Frank was asleep in his stained sleeping back, snoring softly, an empty bottle clutched in his hand. Billy braced himself, for what he didn't quite know. What he did know as that he liked Frank, although he knew that Frank had major problems and wasn't always friendly, but he was funny and easy going most of the time. Mr Wayne, on the other hand, was a rich guy in a suit, a CEO, and while he had been more than nice to Billy, Billy had seen his fair share of rich people look down on the poor. Especially on the homeless.

He didn't know what he'd do if Mr Wayne said something mean.

Billy was holding his breath as they passed by Frank, who barely so much as twitched, too drunk even to notice that someone was walking past less than three steps away.

"Is he okay?" Mr Wayne was frowning at Frank; he'd stopped in his tracks, caught between the staircase and the doorway that led to Billy's room.

Billy shrugged. He didn't quite know what to say. Maybe Mr Wayne had never seen a homeless person before? "Yes, he's just… you know, asleep."

Mr Wayne's frown only deepened. "Has he ever done anything to you?" he asked sharply.

That wasn't the reaction Billy had expected. He'd thought Mr Wayne might find Frank disgusting, he'd not… he'd not thought Mr Wayne's first concern was to worry about _him_. And Mr Wayne had sounded almost dangerous.

"No! No, he's nice. He's my friend," Billy said, shaking his head for emphasis. He really didn't want Mr Wayne to get mad at Frank; he didn't want anyone to get hurt on his behalf. Quickly, he stepped past Mr Wayne into the room where he used to sleep. To his relief, not much had changed. His mattress was still there, lying against the wall, a thin, crumpled blanket on top of it.

Mr Wayne followed him, his steps sounding unnaturally loud in the mostly empty room.

"Do you know if there are any shelters in the area? Or soup kitchens?" he asked Billy as he looked around.

Billy shrugged. He didn't, not exactly, at least. He'd avoided everything that could have gotten him the attention of social services, which meant he had to stay away from shelters and the like anyway.

"I'll have to look into that," Mr Wayne mumbled. He was looking around critically, taking in Billy's humble home. But he wasn't wrinkling his nose or grimacing or anything like that. Just looking."How long did you live here?" he asked finally; his tone didn't give anything away either. Completely neutral.

Billy shrugged again. "I don't know, a couple of weeks?"

"And before that?"

"Other places," he said. He hoped Mr Wayne didn't think his curt answers were rude or supposed to mislead him or something. There just really wasn't much to say on the topic. Billy had drifted from place to place, and all of them had been pretty much the same. Abandoned old buildings, a tent in a closed off subway station, a foster home full of other kids who didn't like him much. What was there to say?

"Like this one?" Mr Wayne asked, apparently not yet satisfied with Billy's answers. Billy wondered why he even cared. It seemed like it shouldn't matter to someone like Mr Wayne.

"Pretty much, but this one's really good." Billy blushed. "I mean, it's big and there's running water and…"

"Let's get your things," Mr Wayne interrupted him gently, and Billy nodded. He hurried over to the mattress and checked for the small tear in the side that lay against the wall. Billy slipped his hand in, and felt around. When his fingers found paper, he breathed a deep sigh of relief. The photo was still there, thank God. It was the last one he had of his parents; he tried to take it wherever he went, but when he went out as Cap, he was too scared that he's lose it or that it would get destroyed so he often left it hidden in the mattress.

"That's it?" Mr Wayne asked, and Billy realized that he'd probably expected clothes and schoolbooks and, well, necessities. But Billy kept his school things in a locker at school, simply because they wouldn't be safe here, and he didn't have anything else... Now Mr Wayne was probably mad that Billy had wasted his time for just a picture.

He swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat up. "Yeah, I'm sorry I made you drive all this way just for that…"

To his surprise, Mr Wayne suddenly reached over and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's important to you, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, Mr Wayne."

"Then it's important to me." Mr Wayne said. He smiled, "and it's Bruce."

* * *

Billy sat in the private jet and stared out of the window. Maybe it was just his imagination, but to him it seemed like the sky was growing darker the closer they got to Gotham. He sighed softly, hoping Mr Wayne - _Bruce_ – hadn't heard. He seemed nice. Just after their visit to Billy's former home, they'd all gone to a diner to have lunch, even Alfred had sat with them, and they'd all eaten together.

It'd been a little strange but fun, and Mr Wayne and Alfred had told him about the other boy, Mr Wayne's ward Dick, who lived at Wayne Manor and was around Billy's age. Mr Wayne had tried to call Dick on his cell, too, but he hadn't been able to reach him.

Then, Alfred had insisted on doing some shopping for Billy, and Mr Wayne had waited in the car while Alfred dragged Billy through the most expensive stores in the mall and bought Billy clothes. That whole thing had been an incredibly weird experience, having a virtual stranger go shopping with him and call him "Master Bill".

And now he was actually on his way to Gotham City, where he would live at Wayne Manor and go to a new school.

Billy sighed again. Tonight, Cap would have to go on patrol in Fawcett, and in two days he'd have to make an appearance at the Watchtower. Unless there was some kind of trouble, which would mean he'd need to show up even earlier.

And Billy had no idea how to do any of that.


	9. Surprise

Dick let his dark blue sports bag fall onto the floor of his room and sighed, checking his cell again. Nothing. Except for the two missed calls he'd been notified of the moment he'd switched on the phone for the first time after the mission. There'd been nothing else.

He'd zeta-ed to Gotham as soon as the team had arrived at Mount Justice. But he'd found the manor completely deserted. Not even Alfred was around.

Two missed calls, both from Bruce's cell but no message. Not a Batman-thing, Dick had decided when he'd first seen them. If there had been an emergency, Bruce would have called him over com. link. Still, for them to take off like that, without even leaving a note…

Well, it was probably an official occasion, Dick thought, trouble at the firm, maybe. A meeting. With all the hero stuff it was sometimes hard to remember that they also had to deal with their more public life.

And thinking of that… Dick grimaced, his eyes wandering over to his school bag lying slumped in the corner like some neglected houseplant. Yep, he still had homework to do.

* * *

He'd just finished his short essay on Robert Frost's "Mending a Wall" when he heard the deep rumble of the Bentley's engine coming up the driveway.

Dick got up from his chair, and headed into the hallway towards the stairs. He wouldn't have admitted it, but he was actually a little relieved. With their lives, you could never be sure.

When the heavy front door opened, Dick was at the top of the stairs overlooking the foyer, ready to greet Bruce and Alfred and maybe ask about dinner because he was seriously starving.

But then the door swung fully open, revealing Alfred, Bruce and a kid Dick had never seen before in his entire life. _Huh._

The boy was staring at him with wide blue eyes, and Dick found himself frowning at his tousled hair and threadbare jeans. Somehow, he looked like he'd just stepped out of a poster for raising awareness of childhood poverty.

"Dick, you're back already!" Bruce was speaking in his _Bruce_ -voice, sounding cheerful and carefree, which told Dick a lot about the situation. "Great timing!"

He felt like smoothing his hair down, but that might have looked suspicious, so instead he just smiled. The kid smiled back, a little shakily.

Alfred cleared his throat in the way that meant _get on with it_ , which was slightly softer than the one that meant _I disapprove of what you just said,_ and a lot briefer than the dreaded _You may not have noticed me, Master Dick, but I am indeed in this room, and I just caught you doing something embarrassing – I will now leave to spare us both, but I do expect you to be very ashamed of yourself -_ throat clearing.

"Dick," Bruce said and this time he actually sounded grave, "this is Billy. Billy is my son. Billy, this is my ward, Dick."

Dick wasn't the type to stand around gaping. In his training with Batman, he'd learned to take things in stride, to not let anything or anyone surprise him because even a split second of hesitation could cost you everything.

Now, though, he was positively thunderstruck.

His _son_? As in his offspring? His progeny? Dick's brain was running through his mental thesaurus, but, at this point, really, no word could be more shocking than _son._

Bruce couldn't be serious, could he?

The kid, Billy, Dick reminded himself, that was the name Bruce had told him, and it wouldn't do to forget important facts like that, was looking up at Dick even as Bruce ushered him into the house. The look in his eyes was almost apologetic.

"Um…hi?" Billy said like he was a tourist trying out a foreign language for the first time, but all Dick could do was stare at him, his mind totally blown, with no idea how to get it un-blown again.

* * *

"So, I guess it's a long story?" Dick asked as soon as he had a moment alone with Bruce. They were sitting at the table in the dining room by themselves. Alfred had just whisked Billy away to the bathroom to draw him a bath so he could get cleaned up, and while Billy was doing that, Alfred himself had vanished into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

"I got a letter telling me I had a son I didn't know about, so I went to Fawcett for the paternity test, and when it turned out to be positive, I decided to take him to Gotham with me." Bruce's voice was slightly hushed; he probably didn't want to risk Billy walking in on them and hearing the wrong things.

"So it's not a long story, more like a short story – or a sentence, actually." Dick frowned, where to begin on this one? "How did you not know about him? I mean, he's what? Eight?"

"Ten. And his mother simply never told me." Bruce's face darkened. "She never would have; she got married; her husband knew, and they raised Billy together."

This wasn't the end of the story, if it had been, the kid wouldn't be here, Dick knew that much. He also had the terrible sense that he knew exactly where this tale was going.

Still, he asked, "What happened?"

"They were murdered."

_Damn._

The statement hung in the air between them, making the atmosphere heavier, the room colder. From the kitchen, the faint sound of sizzling pierced the silence.

"Who killed them?" Dick asked finally. He was angry, but he had it under control; it wasn't audible in his voice, at least he hoped it wasn't. Weird that it still got to him like that sometimes.

"The police had a suspect, but they failed to apprehend him. It's been more than three years since then, and they still haven't found him," Bruce said. Neither his face nor his voice betrayed any emotion, but Dick knew him; he knew Batman had to be seething on the inside.

"So we will find him, right." It wasn't even a question. "That's what we do."

Much to Dick's surprise, Bruce shook his head. "I'll look into it, but, for now, we should focus on trying to make this as easy for Billy as possible. He's been alone – on the street– for a long time, Dick," he said.

"Okay, but what about… _you know_? Will you tell Billy about that? If he's going to live here…" _He could stumble into the cave any day,_ Dick pointedly didn't say.

"I know, but I can't take that step yet. I want to see how he does here first. We'll have to keep it from him for a while, think you can do that?"

"Sure." Dick shrugged, but he wasn't all that comfortable with this. Bruce lied to people on a daily basis, but lying to his own son, that was a little different, even Bruce should see that. Now wasn't the right moment to bring that up, though. They had some time to themselves right now, and, seeing how their situation had drastically changed in the last few hours, Dick decided it was probably better to use the opportunity.

"About the mission," he began.

Bruce shot a sharp glance toward the door.

"What did you find?" he asked, voice even more hushed than before.

"Nothing," Dick whispered back. He was still disappointed about it, too. Finally a mission that had sounded like it was actually important and challenging and then it turned out to be a big bust. "We went through everything, and there was absolutely nothing. Not even a single henchman. Everything was one hundred percent natural, no super anywhere to be seen. Not even a whiff of magic."

"Hm," was all Bruce said, and, not for the first time, Dick wished he had Miss Martian's telepathic powers, so he could find out what Batman was thinking.


	10. Dinner

They all sat at one end of the incredibly long polished table together, not at the opposite ends, separated by what would have seemed like a sheer insurmountable distance, like Billy had expected. He'd seen that kind of scene in movies, comedies, in which people had to yell to talk to each other or use toy train sets to serve as means of passing around the ketchup. The table was still huge, though, and the room was… well, more elegant than anything Billy had ever seen in his life, museums his parents had worked at included.

But then, he'd already had that feeling the first time he'd seen the house, Wayne Manor, looming over the city like a huge, ominous animal. To Billy, everything about Gotham, from the grey, overcast sky to the sinister gargoyles perching on almost every building, was like a silent reminder of Batman. It made him feel like a trespasser and it made him keenly aware that he just didn't belong. Not even an hour in the city, and Billy already missed his sunny home.

The food, though…

When Alfred set his plate down in front of him, Billy had to actively keep himself from drooling. The savory smell coming from the kitchen had been taunting him even before dinner had been ready, pretty much as soon as Billy had come downstairs, still damp from the shower, new clothes kinda itchy on his skin. He'd sniffed the air like a dog then, and now that his food was within reach, Billy couldn't wait any longer.

He grabbed his fork and dug in, shoveling mashed potatoes and gravy into his mouth while trying to saw a bite of his steak off with his knife at the same time.

"This is really good!" he said, or tried to say at least, since only half the words made it through his mouthful of mashed potatoes. And that wouldn't have been so bad, except that when he looked up he realized that Mr Wayne, Dick and Alfred were all three staring at him, various degrees of surprise, amusement and, in Alfred's case, scandalized distaste written on their faces.

Billy felt heat rise to his face. _Way to make an idiot of yourself, Batson._ He swallowed quickly, almost choking, and ducked his head in embarrassment. At lunch he'd remembered to hold himself back, but Alfred's cooking was better than anything he'd ever tasted – excluding only his mom's homemade pizza.

"Table manners, sir," Alfred said in mild reproach, but Mr Wayne just smiled encouragingly.

"We'll work on that," he said, "and now, please, sit down, Alfred."

Alfred very nearly jumped out of his shoes at that. "Sir!"

"That is an order. Billy is part of this family now and I don't want him to get the wrong impression."

"I'm afraid we might not entirely agree on your definition of what constitutes the ʻwrong impressionʼ-"

"Come on, we're having dinner together," Mr Wayne interrupted. "We don't do this often enough as it is." Billy caught an apologetic glance from Mr Wayne, cast vaguely in his direction, and wondered what exactly that meant for his future.

"Bruce has late meetings," Dick said. "And, you know, I've got school, so…"

What could Billy say to that? They had to realize that this was a million times better than anything he was used to, right? Still, the way they all looked at each other for a second there made him feel a little like he was missing something huge and obvious. "Oh…" was all he could come up with, not sure what kind of reaction was expected of him.

Thankfully, Mr Wayne cleared his throat and changed the topic.

"Speaking of school, I'm going to make a few calls tomorrow, regarding your future school, among other things," he said.

_Oh,_ Billy thought, eloquent as ever. He wasn't sure he liked this topic better than the last one.

Dick, however, perked up a bit. "Gotham Elementary?" he asked, sounding wistful, and added, with a look at Billy, "I used to go there. It's a good school. Plus, I know most of the teachers, so if you need any advice…"

That was nice at least. Billy had had some experience with foster siblings and, so far, Dick was among the nicest he'd ever had – which didn't say much because the others—well. But Dick's smile looked honest; it reached his blue eyes and made them light up. He didn't seem to hate Billy just for existing, which was a totally new experience on the foster sibling front. Then again, maybe that was just because there were adults around.

"A doctor's appointment might be in order as well, sir," Alfred chimed in. He was sitting down now and ladling mashed potatoes onto his plate. Not the kind of thing butlers on tv ever did. Billy felt like there was still a whole lot he didn't know about this family.

Still, a doctor's appointment? He hadn't had a real one of those since before he'd become Captain Marvel…

"I'm not sick," he said, not really protesting, just pointing it out.

"When was your last check-up, Billy?" Mr Wayne asked.

"Um, I'm not sure…" Billy ducked his head, staring at the food left on his table; suddenly he wasn't all that hungry anymore. It was weird, having adults in his life again, making decisions for him. He wasn't sure he liked it.

"That's why you need one," Mr Wayne said, and while he didn't sound mean or especially firm about it, it was still clear that this was his final word on the topic.

* * *

"So," Dick said, once they were alone in Dick's room after dinner. Mr Wayne had sent them up, telling Dick to show Billy around and excusing himself to make those phone calls that would dictate Billy's future. Billy wasn't too keen on thinking about _that._

Anyway, Dick said _"So"_ and Billy braced himself for what would inevitably come next: the laying down of the rules, the hazing, maybe. He swallowed, wondering how long he'd last in this house. A week?

How long would he even _want_ to stay?

"So," Dick repeated, his face breaking into a wide grin, "how do you feel about Mario Kart?"


	11. Burning Bright

With something close to a death rattle, Billy dropped his gamepad and let himself fall backwards onto the carpeted floor he'd been sitting on while playing.

"How do you do it?" he asked. "There's a trick, right?"

"Nope, I'm just that good," Dick said. "But, you know, I've had _way_ more practice, so… Want to go another round?"

Billy raised his head to look at the screen once more. Yoshi was still doing his victory lap – he looked totally smug, too, for a cute green dinosaur anyway. Losing seven times in a row? Not that fun.

"Pass," he groaned and sank back down.

"Wanna play something else?"

Billy shrugged awkwardly, still lying on his back, looking up at the ceiling. He felt exhausted, like he was ready to fall asleep any second, but admitting that would probably be really rude. He could barely keep his eyes open, though. The carpet was so soft and thick, far more comfortable than his old mattress had been and it smelled as if it had just been cleaned, not moldy like the places Billy was used to. "What else have you got?" he asked.

"Lots," Dick shot back.

_Right, billionaire…_ Dick could probably have everything he wanted; he'd just have to ask Mr Wayne, who'd buy it for him in a heartbeat. Pretty cool… But still, Billy couldn't see himself fitting into that picture.

When he heard Dick get up and move away, Billy turned his head to look and saw Dick bent over an open chest at the wall, rummaging around in it in search of other games. It sounded like there were tons in there.

This wasn't so bad, was it? Living here, having all the things he could ever wish for, his own room, new clothes, and a cool guy like Dick to hang out with. It was kind of a dream come true… Except, well, there was still Cap. And while being Cap was helpful and awesome for a street kid, it usually complicated things when he had to live under adult supervision. Soon, he'd have to start lying to Dick and Mr Wayne and Alfred. And that sucked. Majorly.

Dick emerged from his quest for entertainment, bearing an armful of video games, which he dropped on the floor next to Billy as he sat down.

"Take your pick," he said generously.

Billy struggled into a sitting position and examined the pile of games Dick had brought. Yep, all the classics were there. Link, Mario and Samus in various poses on their shiny boxes looked right back at him, but, for some reason, Billy's gaze kept being drawn away from them to the posters on Dick's wall. One poster specifically.

He'd been glancing at it again and again, wondering if he could just ask about it or if that would make Dick think he was rude and nosy.

The poster was dark blue, like a night sky, three silvery-white silhouettes – two male, one female – were in the foreground. Above them the poster read, _Haley's Circus is Proud to Present,_ and below them it continued, _The Flying Graysons._

Billy had seen ads for circuses before, but never in someone's room. He wondered if Dick was a fan. The poster was really cool either way, something special that you probably couldn't get in any store. Maybe he'd been to the show with Mr Wayne and the poster was a souvenir.

"Nothing you like?" Dick prompted, giving him a quizzical look.

Billy felt himself blush under the other boy's intense scrutiny. Dick had piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through you; no doubt he'd already figured out that Billy was more interested in the poster than the games.

_Not hard when you're pretty much staring at it, Batson,_ he chastised himself mentally. _Stop being such a dork and just ask._

"No, I was just wondering…about that poster… so… um, did you see that show?" _Very smooth, Billy, not dorky at all._

Dick smiled wanly. "I kind of _was_ that show. Part of it at least."

That was news, amazing news! "You were in the circus?!"Billy blurted. "Wow! That is _so_ cool! What were you doing?"

"I was an acrobat. Like my parents."

"Woah! That's awesome! You were on the trapeze? I mean that's—That is the coolest thing ever! Did you have animals at your circus?"

"Well, yeah."

Was Dick annoyed with him? Maybe. Billy probably sounded a little dumb, all enthusiastic and completely clueless. But he couldn't help it. It'd been years since he'd been to the circus and besides, he'd only ever been once, and he'd certainly never had the chance to talk to someone who was _in the circus._

"Sorry, stupid question," he said. "I mean pretty much every circus has animals, right? Well, maybe not every circus, but most, and—Actually, were there tigers? Did they travel with you? Did you get to feed them? Or pet them? Did you get to pet tigers? That would be so great!" It had all come out in one long, breathless rush, and now Billy was staring at Dick expectantly and noticing that the other boy did seem somewhat… exasperated? "Tigers are kind of my favorite animals…" Billy hurried to explain, and then realized that maybe Dick didn't like tigers, which, yeah, would be kind of weird, since tigers were awesome, but he didn't want to go and insult Dick's taste in animals, so he added, "But I like lions, too. And elephants! I like pretty much all animals."

And he hadn't let Dick get in one word for how long exactly? Billy grimaced. "Um. Sorry, I guess that was pretty rude… I just really like tigers…"

Dick grinned. There was something sly about his grin, something mischievous. "You don't say. That's okay, though. And, yeah, we did have tigers, but no, I didn't pet them." He shrugged. "Look, if you have a question, just ask, it's totally cool."

As a matter of fact, Billy did have one question, only… He wasn't sure it was the kind that fell under totally cool. "Um…" he began, "I don't want to be rude, but… well—"

Dick arched an eyebrow, his sly grin turning a little wistful. "Let me guess, how did I end up here?"

"Um...yeah." Billy bit his lip. He knew that talking about this stuff—Well, it was private and it might be painful. The last thing he wanted to do was to pressure Dick and make him feel bad. "You don't have to tell me!" he blurted out, afraid that he was making a mess of things. "I mean if you don't want to! I shouldn't have asked!"

Dick cocked his head as if Billy was a curious object he wanted to examine from a different angle. "You didn't ask," he said, "and it's fine. It's not a secret. I'm actually surprised Bruce hasn't told you already."

"Mr Wayne said you lost your parents. I just figured you were his nephew or something." That was what people asked you first. If you had any relatives they could call. It was kind of the natural progression of things, Billy thought. With Dick and Mr Wayne, when they'd sat at the dinner table, Billy had just assumed they were related. They kinda looked like they could be. Except Mr Wayne was big, broad-shouldered, and had a strong, sort of square jaw, and Dick was actually almost the opposite, all slim and narrow-faced. He looked kinda delicate, but Billy knew better than to say that to his face. That was the kind of talk that could get you a black eye real quick.

"No, we're not related," Dick said and his voice was serious now, the little edge of amusement all gone. "But… he was there. The night my parents were murdered, Bruce was at the circus, in the audience."

Billy could barely suppress a gasp of shock at that. "They were killed during the show?" He could almost see it, the circus ring, the lights, the audience, the horror. It was too awful to be true, right? It had to be.

Dick, however, nodded. "Yeah, this guy, Tony Zucco, he sabotaged the trapeze rig. It broke and they… fell."

And they sat there, cross-legged on the thick carpet, a pile of Nintendo Wii games between them, and Billy felt that pause, he felt it echo through him, he felt it on his heart, and then _fell_. That word was like someone's last breath, and Billy felt tears well up in his eyes when he heard it.

At first glance, Dick's face seemed very calm, except for the storm of emotion in his eyes. It really didn't matter how often you told the story. It never stopped hurting.

Billy swallowed. "You saw it happen?"

"Yeah. I was right there." Dick stopped abruptly as if he'd only just realized. As if he was seeing it all unfold again, and Billy wanted to close the distance between them and pull him into his arms, say something like, _It's alright,_ although it wasn't, not really. He'd done that as Cap. Cap gave good hugs, the best. But Cap had the courage of Achilles and Billy… Billy just didn't; he didn't have the courage even to just reach over and touch the older boy's hand.

The moment passed either way.

After a few seconds, Dick simply shook his head and moved on. "Anyway," he said briskly, "Bruce brought me to the manor that night and I've been living here with him and Alfred ever since then. It's been four years."

Billy was about to say something – he hadn't quite figured out what yet – when Dick's eyes suddenly widened a fraction. He was clearly startled by something behind Billy, and, reflexively, Billy whipped around to see what could be lurking there.

All he saw was the large window, the dark night sky and the huge black shadow of a bat floating inside an oval of ghostly white light above the city.

_Holey Moley,_ Billy thought, slack jawed with awe, _the Bat Signal!_


	12. Going to Work

The first thing Dick thought when he saw the Bat Signal was the clichéd _uh-oh_ , followed by a more practical _Now what?_

But while Billy was on his feet and at the window in seconds, Dick remained where he was, playing it cool, and, lo and behold, a moment later the door opened and Bruce stuck his head into the room.

"Boys, time for bed," he said, all relaxed and normal, not even a hint of urging.

Dick suppressed a smirk. "It's pretty late, isn't it?" He made bit of a show of stretching his arms over his head and yawning. "Well, I'm beat."

Billy, though, kept standing at the window, looking at Bruce over his shoulder, and pointing at the night sky. "It's the Bat Signal, Mr Wayne!"

He sounded way too excited, Dick thought, like he'd always dreamed of this moment. A lot of kids at school practically worshipped Batman, and, yeah, Dick got it. It wasn't like you could help being impressed by great people, people like Superman, heroes. Living with a Batman fan-boy, however, and trying to keep a straight face during moments like this one? That was a little much.

Not that you'd ever know from looking at Bruce, who just smiled and shrugged.

"I saw," Bruce said. "We get that a lot. You'll get used to it in no time."

Billy looked crestfallen, and Dick felt kind of sorry for him, being tricked like that. This wasn't good. It was the wrong approach. Sure, he could understand Bruce's reasoning on some level. Billy was ten, he'd only just met Bruce, Dick and Alfred, and they didn't know they could trust him with their secret. A lot depended on it. But then, again, he was ten years old, what could he do with their secret? Run to Arkham and tell the Joker? And anyway, maybe they couldn't be sure they could trust him yet, but the longer this went on, the less likely it would be that Billy would ever trust _them_ again once he found out – and he _would_ find out.

"I just thought… maybe we'll see Batman…" Billy said, casting a longing glance towards the Bat Signal.

_Better wrap this up_ , Dick thought. Feeling sorry for Billy didn't help, and the Bat Signal did mean trouble. Bruce and he would have to hurry to get to the GCPD, and they hadn't even gotten Billy to go to sleep yet.

"Well, he's not going to come to our house. He's not Santa; he's not going from home to home, bringing presents," he pointed out. He hoped he didn't sound like he was making fun of Bruce's clueless kid.

"I know, but—"

"Look, Billy," Bruce's voice was firm and gentle and, or so Dick thought, totally the way any parenting book would advertise in their _How to speak to your deluded offspring_ -section, "the signal is coming from the police department; that's on the other side of the city. Batman won't come past here. I'm sorry."

Dick nodded enthusiastically. "Plus, I heard you can only see Batman if he _wants_ you to see him, so…" He trailed off as he caught a sharp glance from Bruce. Well, he had been pushing it. If it hadn't been too obvious, Dick would have rolled his eyes.

Anyway, from the look of him, Billy didn't need much more convincing. His shoulders slumping, he turned away from the window and obediently trotted over to the door, where Bruce immediately stepped aside to let Alfred take over.

* * *

"We've got to make up for lost time," Batman growled, his eyes never leaving the dimly illuminated road ahead of them.

Robin felt himself being pressed deeper into the upholstery of his seat as his partner stepped on the gas pedal.

"Maybe if we had just waited a little longer, we would've actually seen the elusive Batman," he said drily, giving Bruce a sidelong glance to assess the success of his remark. Maybe a 6.2. The corner of Bruce's mouth quirked upwards once – very briefly. More like a spasm than a smile.

"Funny, Dick," he said with just a hint of sarcasm.

Dick sighed, there was really nothing else he could do. "You know, at some point, he's going to look back on that moment and _cringe_ ," he said. "You should tell him. Get it out of the way."

Another glance at Batman told him what he already knew; he'd wasted his breath.

Bruce's jaw was set, his lips a thin, straight line.

" _Robin_ ," he said, and his voice carried all the finality of his right hook. "We have work to do."

* * *

Billy lay in his new bed and waited, curled on his side, staring at the face of the old-fashioned alarm clock on his bedside table. Its glowing hands seemed frozen in one place, and no matter how much Billy strained, he couldn't hear any sounds in the house. Just the regular tick tock of the clock.

Had they really all gone to bed already? According to the alarm clock it was only half past nine. On a Friday to boot. Dick wouldn't even have school tomorrow, and Billy wasn't even enrolled yet.

Billy bit his lip and kept waiting, studying the unfamiliar shadows in his new room. Everything in Gotham seemed so strange to him, nothing seemed right. Like seeing yourself in a funhouse mirror, all deformed.

If he were in Fawcett, Billy realized, he would have begun patrol already. He always went as soon as it was dark – and maybe it was just him, but it seemed to get dark earlier in Gotham – not just as a time zone thing – and also, it felt like it got _darke_ r in Gotham.

Billy shivered a little under his soft covers.

The house was big, he told himself. Alfred was probably still downstairs, doing whatever butlers did, and since the house was so big, and hence downstairs was kinda far away, maybe you couldn't actually hear what exactly was going on upstairs. And you probably really couldn't hear what was going on on the roof.

So maybe, if he snuck out through the window and transformed there, no one would notice. It wasn't really like he had a choice, anyway. He couldn't just stay in bed. Fawcett City needed its hero! It was Billy's responsibility, and maybe, if he really focused and tried to reign in his magical energy as much as possible, well then maybe the thunder wouldn't be quite so… thunderous?

Billy sighed. He just had to try.

* * *

It was a little bit of anticlimax when his great escape was a complete, uneventful success, but Billy still breathed a sigh of relief once he was out and up in the air.

Time to go to work.

Time to go home.


	13. Like Magic

Billy was in Fawcett within minutes. _Thank you, Speed of Mercury._

And once there, he got to work immediately. Kicking butt and taking names! Or, well, dropping them off at the police station, at least.

It was a good night, a busy one, that had Captain Marvel zipping around town, stopping a big bar brawl on Binder Boulevard, then catching a speeding truck before it could cause a huge accident – the driver had fallen asleep at the wheel – then he saw a suspicious light at the museum and when he stopped by, it turned out that a bunch of creeps had decided to steal some old artifact, probably to auction it off somewhere. He got a look at the thing when the police took the would-be-thieves away, and wondered who'd even want something as boring-looking as that sand-colored piece of rock, even as the Wisdom of Solomon informed him that it was an old Kahndaquian conductor of magical energy. It didn't really carry much power within itself and you couldn't really do anything with it unless you had about a bazillion other long lost artifacts, so Billy made mental note and went on his way.

He moved on to two teenagers who'd decided to rob a Happy Burger joint. They stared at him from behind their pink bunny masks, so freaked out Billy could see the whites of their eyes. And when he realized their guns were toys, Billy decided to let them off the hook with a just warning. They were kids anyway, maybe sixteen years old, and they hadn't even managed to scare the girl behind the counter. She'd just rolled her eyes at Billy and told him that some people were morons, they probably couldn't help it, what were ya supposed do?

Billy figured the best he could do was take them to their parents, so he marched them – _no flying for you, gentlemen_ – to their houses, really nice houses, too, picket fences and everything, and had their parents lecture them for him. Which they did. Loudly and excessively.

* * *

"This wasn't listed? You didn't know about this beforehand?" There was a deep frown under that cowl, Dick just knew it. He watched Batman flip through the loose pages of the file Gordon had handed to him, and wondered if Bruce would bother showing it to him at _some_ point.

"No, and, believe me, I've been asking Mr Cartwright the same thing. You want the short answer? He thought he was above the law," the Commissioner said, his voice barely audible as a helicopter passed above and the wind tore at his coat and tie. "I've spent half the night talking to him about his attitude," he shouted. "But… I'm actually a little surprised _you_ didn't know."

"Cartwright didn't have a criminal record or connections to the underworld, Jim. He wasn't on my radar."

_But he is now, the lucky guy,_ Dick thought, biting back a grin.

"Look, I could care less about ʻreturning Mister Cartwright's personal propertyʼ - he did import it illegally, so tough luck – but God knows the last thing I need right now is magical watchamamcallits floating around the city," Gordon said uneasily. You could just tell he'd have preferred a good old bank robbery or something, _anything_ , over this mess. "Can you look into this? I know you have friends in the League who specialize in that sort of thing."

"Don't worry, Commissioner." Bruce gave back the file and shot Dick a look that probably meant they'd be off the GCPD building within the next ten seconds.

Dick grinned. "We're on it."

* * *

"Don't you just feel it? It's like there's something… _special_ in the air tonight," Dick drawled as he plopped down onto the passenger seat of the Batmobile.

" _Magic_ ," Bruce growled and slammed the car door decisively shut.

* * *

Before heading back to Gotham, Billy stopped by Happy Burger again. Christie, the counter-girl, had promised him a free milkshake of his choice, and if Captain Marvel had one weakness, it was free milkshakes. He picked strawberry and gave Christie the hug for which she had asked in exchange, then he waved goodbye and flew off.

* * *

Even from above, Gotham looked ominous, spooky and haunted. Billy flew in low, just above the roofs of regular buildings, dodging skyscrapers while drinking his milkshake through the straw. He was savoring it, every drop a treat. Plus, he figured he was early, it wasn't even midnight yet, but the city was fairly quiet. So why not give himself a little tour of the place?

To his mild disappointment, the Bat Signal was off. He'd only been half-pretending when he'd said he wanted to see Batman. Sure, first and foremost, he'd wanted to hear what Mr Wayne and Dick would have to say about Gotham's Knight, about heroes in general, what with him being a hero. Just trying to gauge what their reaction would be if they ever found out – which they _wouldn't_ , he hurried to assure himself as he felt the alarm bells ringing in his head. As Billy, he sometimes thought about telling – or maybe not _telling,_ exactly, just being less paranoid, but then, as Cap, he knew it wasn't an option. As Cap, he had the wisdom and the thousand years of experience regarding what could happen when people figured out you weren't exactly what they expected you to be. _Bad stuff._

Anyway, he'd been half-pretending, but then he'd also been half-excited about the prospect of seeing Batman work. Sure, he could see Bats at the Watchtower pretty much all the time and they'd fought side by side before, but still, seeing Batman in Gotham, watching him do his thing without the League, that was probably totally different.

Not to mention super cool.

* * *

"Hold on. Did you see that?" Dick asked, pointing up as Bruce slowed down the car.

"Yes. Let's go."

* * *

Billy had just landed on one of the taller buildings in the area, to get his bearings and have a look around, when he saw the five men in the street below. They were dressed in dark clothes and they wore ski masks. Dead giveaway.

Across the narrow street, off the rundown building opposite Billy's, thug number six came sliding down a fire ladder.

_Okay, time for Captain Marvel to—_

Wait. Billy heard something. Something strange that didn't fit the scenery of a creepy dark alley at night at all. Someone was laughing. A boy's voice bounced down between the towering buildings, skipping off the stone structures like a pebble across the surface of a lake.

The men below stopped in their tracks, turning this way and that, looking around frantically for the source of the eerie sound. Billy, who'd quickly ducked behind a wall to avoid being spotted, heard someone ask," What _is_ that?" in a tone pretty close to panicky.

A _woosh_ followed by more laughter caused Captain Marvel to peek over his cover.

He saw a black and red streak of color swinging below him. A dark-haired boy, trailing a black cape, legs outstretched to kick one of the thugs in the chest so swiftly that the guy didn't even have time to pick his jaw off the ground.

The others screamed, cursed and ran, some towards their assailant, some away from him.

_Woah, Robin!_

Billy hurried to get moving; he ran and hopped onto the next roof, a little closer to the action. Maybe Robin would need him, maybe—

Nope, Billy looked over to the three guys who were trying to flee, and spotted a dark shadow looming on the rusty fire escape of the building across the street. When the guys passed below him, the shadow moved, dropping down and unfolding into the shape of a huge bat.

From the men's perspective it must have looked even scarier because they _freaked,_ there really was no other way to say it; they flailed and screamed. "Fucking kill him!" "Get off me, you goddamned maniac!" Their shrill cries drifted up from below, accompanied by dull thuds and loud crashes.

The whole time, Billy watched, telling himself that he'd jump in if he was needed, but in truth, he was staring at the dynamic duo in awestruck almost-silence, gasping when Robin effortlessly ducked under a two-by-four that had been swung at his head and proceeded to take the man's feet out from under him with an elegant sweeping kick.

The fight only lasted for about two minutes, then the thugs were all knocked out and tied up, waiting for the police to come and collect them. Billy for his part followed Batman and Robin. Quietly, he floated after them, not because he wanted to spy on them, just to see if they'd brought the Batmobile. He'd never seen it; Batman never took it on League missions and Billy had always thought it was the coolest thing ever.

Still clutching his milkshake, Billy watched Robin swing around a corner, and there it was. The Batmobile. It was parked in the shadow of a tall building with an Ace Chemicals billboard on its roof, and it was beautiful. Billy had never seen anything like it, all sleek and black and shiny. He wondered how fast it could go, what it would be like to ride inside it… or better yet, to drive it himself.

Captain Marvel darted over to the building with the billboard as fast as he could, and landed at the edge of the roof to get the best possible view of the car. It was pretty amazing, the way the yellow light from the streetlamps reflected off the hood, the tinted windows, everything. He wasn't a big car buff, but the Batmobile? That was just _wow_.

So Billy stared for a while, taking the occasional sip from his milkshake, until suddenly it occurred to him that he _had_ been staring _for a while_ now. And the Batmobile was still there, parked. He was pretty sure he'd seen Robin get in, but…

The street below was deserted except for the Batmobile. It was quiet, nothing audible but very distant traffic noise. Billy felt a slight breeze that stirred his cape. He had this strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, but maybe that was just the milkshake.

_Any second now, the Batmobile's going to drive off. Any second now…_

_Either that or he's standing right behind you, Batson._

Billy was about to take heart and turn around to confront his fear when, suddenly, the Batmobile's motor started, the headlights went on, and the vehicle slid away into the night. Shaking his head at his own silliness – what was he so afraid of? They were both heroes! Bats was his pal! Well, maybe pal was kind of a strong word, but… they were on same side – Billy took another sip of his sweet milkshake, already smiling about his own dorkiness, turned around, and found himself staring into eerily blank white eye-lenses of Batman's cowl.

It was like being struck by lightning – the non-magical kind that could make your heart stop.

Deeply shocked, Billy dropped his milkshake right onto Batman's boots, splattering them with drops of pink liquid. Then he found himself staring at the pink on black mess; morbidly fascinated, he watched a fat pink drop slide down the side of Batman's foot.

_Only one thing to do…_

Billy forced a smile and raised his hand in greeting. "Hiya, Batman!" he said as cheerfully as he could manage under the circumstances.

Batman's face might have been cut into marble for all the reaction it showed, none. Only, the white lenses covering his eyes narrowed into slits. Kinda like Bats was zooming in on a target.

" _Captain Marvel_."


	14. Unlucky

"What are you doing here?" Batman's arms were folded across his chest and his stance told Captain Marvel one thing, loud and clear, that he wouldn't budge until he had all the answers he wanted to hear. Billy swallowed. _Oh, boy._

"Well, I was just… you know, passing through?" It sounded like he was asking Batman, and that was no good, but with those pupil-less eyes trained on you, thinking was pretty darn hard. All Billy knew was that he definitely couldn't tell Batman he had moved to Gotham. That'd be… bad. In _so_ many ways.

"You were watching us. Explain yourself."

Billy's stomach clenched. For some reason, being with Batman always made him feel like he had been called to the principal's office, especially when Batman was annoyed with him like he was now. It was weird because, well, Cap could totally take Batman in a fight, couldn't he? But that wasn't the point, the point was… Batman was _Batman._

"I saw these guys," he began, "and then you showed up, and I thought to myself, maybe you could use my help. So I hung around, in case anything went wrong? " _You sound like you're asking him again, Batson. Cut it out!_

Batman glared at him silently, and, as if by magic, Billy felt his gaze being drawn away from the terrifying glower up to Batman's sharp pointy ears. Why were they so sharp and pointy? Did Batman occasionally use them to headbutt people like a bull? It took all of Captain Marvel's willpower to tear his gaze away and keep himself from reaching out to touch them. And to suppress the mental image of Batman running around, headbutting people in the stomach… Or the behind. _Stop it, now!_

"Anyway, I'm glad you're okay. I mean, you were awesome!" he exclaimed, hoping that Batman wouldn't notice the hysteria of just barely suppressed laughter in his voice. Then he frowned at himself, realizing that maybe he'd sounded way too surprised about that last part. "Not that I doubted that you would be awesome," he amended quickly. "It's just… Being a hero, no matter how great you are, it can be dangerous and it's better to be safe than sorry. So I stayed and watched, strictly as back-up. " There, he'd done it. That was a good, reasonable explanation. Billy felt like wiping some metaphorical sweat off his forehead in relief.

Batman was not impressed. Or maybe he was. It was kinda hard to tell, no matter how you looked at him..

"Why did you follow us to the Batmobile?" _Nope, not impressed._

"I just wanted to make sure there weren't any other thugs. That you got back okay." That made sense, in a way.

Billy waited for Batman's reply. Nothing. The Dark Knight simply proceeded to stare at him. Any other person would have said something, or made a noise of acknowledgement at least. But Batman didn't; he kept glaring, and Billy felt tempted to wave a hand in front of his eyes. Maybe one of the thugs had hit him in the head a little too hard, after all.

"You are… okay, right?" Billy asked. "I mean, you're not hurt."

"I'm _fine_ ," Batman growled.

_Okay, time to flee_ , Billy decided.

"That's good!" he exclaimed and just barely stopped himself from putting a hand on Batman's shoulder. "That's great! So, uhm, say hi to Robin for me!"

He took a step back, off the ledge, and would have flown off – making full use of the Speed of Mercury – had Batman not chosen this moment to speak up.

"Captain," he said gravely. "If I want your help, I'll ask for it. _Don't_ help me unless I do. Next time, take the detour _around_ Gotham. Understood?"

_Ouch._

Billy nodded. This was not his day; he'd _really_   made Batman mad. "Uh, yeah… I mean, yes, sir," he stuttered, feeling a little hurt.

" _Good._ And now get out of my city." Without further ado, Batman turned around and stalked off to the side of the building. Then he leapt into the darkness and was swallowed instantly, with no sound but the brief _slap_ of his cape whipping into gliding mode.

_I could easily catch up to him,_ Billy thought. _I could fly loopings around him if I wanted to._

He knew that was childish defiance speaking, that Captain Marvel could never allow himself to act like that, and that he didn't even really want to. Just… It was unfair. Batman was always curt, yeah, but he wasn't usually this _mean._ Having strawberry milkshakes spilled on him really brought out the worst in Batman, Billy decided. That was probably it. Still, it hurt, being rejected like that, especially since now, he felt even less at home in Gotham.

"Gee, Batman," he said under his breath once he was – mostly – sure that Bats was gone, "I would _love_ to do that… but I _can't_ because I _live_ here now."

* * *

Billy was truly exhausted by the time he landed on the roof of Wayne Manor – not physically, of course, Cap could have flown around the globe a hundred times with an elephant strapped to his back and he wouldn't have broken a sweat, but Billy Batson was definitely done for the night.

Good thing that the night wasn't over, though. Billy had made sure to return early. He had no idea when his new family got up in the morning – hopefully their freakishly early bedtime wasn't an indicator – and the last thing he wanted was for them to find his bed empty on the first day.

He'd made it, though, the house lay dark and silent beneath him, and Billy could finally relax. The window to his room was right in front of him; all he had to do was say the word, _softly,_ turn back and—

Billy hesitated, noticing something odd about the wall next to his window. There was this weird dark spot, like a hole. He floated closer and bent to examine it. It _was_ a little hole, about the size of his fingertip, and there was something inside, something shiny, like a marble?

Or a lens…

Billy drew his finger away as if he'd burnt it, but it was too late anyway. If this was a camera, and really, it was a freaking camera, what else could it be? Besides, Mr Wayne was a billionaire, _of course_ he had a security system!

Anyway, this was a camera and he was on it! As Billy and as Captain Marvel and transforming from one into the other!

_Oh God,_ Billy thought, feeling slightly dizzy, _I really messed up!_


End file.
